


You Can't

by writinwaters (Anithene)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Complete, F/M, One Shot, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anithene/pseuds/writinwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Yoruichi often wonders what they would be like now, had she stayed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't

_______________________________________________  


  
"Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself." - Mark Twain.  
  
_______________________________________________

Sometimes, it feels as if she’s in a glass cage, screaming with all her strength.

No one ever answers.

Yoruichi finds it ironic that although she’s a noble, with political and social power many only dream about, her voice is rarely heard. This is why Yoruichi is so rebellious; brash and outgoing, everything the nobles don’t want her to be. This way, at least she can be heard, if not through words, but through actions.

Others choose to stay silent.

“I don’t understand you,” she says.

Byakuya pulls his clothing back on, straightening folds and smoothing wrinkles. It’s early morning, and there is a Captain’s meeting in half an hour. She doesn’t help him dress. She sits on the open futon, naked, save for the blanket around her waist. Her hair is loose, falling in tangled waves down her back. Byakuya stands before her, but he doesn’t meet her gaze.

Though she tries, Yoruichi can’t read his expression.

“Neither do I, Yoruichi.”

_______________________________________________

Although it’s been nearly twenty years since the Winter War, Yoruichi is still trapped in the past.

It feels as if she should be younger, though Yoruichi is hardly old by Shinigami standards. Some days, Yoruichi thinks of herself as an old woman, who has seen too much and loved too little. She has _been_ loved – but has hardly loved herself.

She and Urahara are not lovers; they care one another as companions and confidants do, and she wouldn’t dare sully that with sex or romance.

That is not to say she hasn't had past lovers herself,  but their faces have faded and their memory unimportant.

If she were honest, Yoruichi doesn’t know what to call Byakuya Kuchiki.

For a time, he was a little boy, a foul-mouthed adolescent with a temper. He was a good student, a quick learner, someone to tease when boredom overtook her. She did not think much of him as a teenager.

She knew he would grow up to be a fine man, but could never imagine the tragedy life thrust upon him. Or herself.

Yoruichi often wonders what they would be like now, had she stayed. Those thoughts are quickly dismissed, because she knows nothing can change that now.

_______________________________________________

His hands are gentle as they run through her hair.

They lay side by side on her bed, blankets kicked to the side. Her sleeping yukata is loose and the front of his is open. Grinning, Yoruichi runs her hands along his chest, fingertips brushing old scars, past his ribs. Her touch lingers on the one near his heart, where Gin’s blade pierced him, instead of Rukia.

His dark eyes are soft and thoughtful as he gazes at her. She looks away, unused to this affection.

Byakuya’s hands stop. He doesn’t reach over to guide her gaze back to him, nor does he lean down to kiss her. He rolls over, silent.

They remain that way for the rest of the night.

_______________________________________________

“What must I do to make it up to you, Byakuya?”

His back remains to her, Captain’s haori around his shoulders. His squad number is stark and cold against the cloth.

She stands in the doorway of his office, arms crossed, chin down. Through heavily lidded eyes, she looks him up and down, frowning. He remains silent.

“You’re such a jackass, Kuchiki.”

This earns her a glare. Any other woman would have quivered at the intensity of his gaze. Yoruichi lifts her chin and grins.

Byakuya turns to stand behind his desk, straightening the pens and papers, although they’re already in neat order. They don’t look at each other.

Then, he speaks, voice low and dark, like the shadows outside.

“You can’t.”

Yoruichi watches him leave, feeling as if she’s on fire, and he can’t see her burning.


End file.
